


that deviant ingredient

by oneprotagonistshort



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneprotagonistshort/pseuds/oneprotagonistshort
Summary: “Quentin,” Eliot says, “are you by any chance wondering why you’re suddenly hard in the middle of the kitchen for no reason?” He presses in closer, kissing up behind Quentin’s ear and smiling when he has to grab the counter to steady himself.Quentin’s voice is shaky when he replies. “Uh, a little?” he says. “Like, what you’re doing super isn’t helping but, yeah, it’s kinda weird.”“What do you know about aphrodisiacs?” Eliot whispers into his ear, and Quentin groans.





	that deviant ingredient

**Author's Note:**

> Quentin and Eliot eat sex cookies, that's pretty much it. There's trope-typical dubcon that comes with sex magic, but I assure you they're both fully on board.
> 
> Takes place during [vague mumbling]. Don't worry, it doesn't matter.

“Hey Q,” Eliot says lightly, leaning against the kitchen counter and enjoying the way Quentin jumps in surprise. “Whatcha eatin’?”

He’s not surprised that Quentin is stealing someone else’s food, not really; they all do it and it’s generally accepted that if you don’t ward it against thieves it’s your own fault if it goes missing. What’s surprising is that Quentin is eating _Josh’s_ food. He must be feeling either particularly brave or particularly hungry because even on a good day eating whatever Josh leaves lying around is a risk.

“Nothing,” Quentin says, as if he hadn’t just gotten busted with half a cookie still in his mouth. He moves to try to hide the box, but knows he’s been caught and gives up quickly. “Cookies.”

Speaking around a mouthful of stolen cookies shouldn’t be cute but it is, and Eliot rolls his eyes at how infuriatingly endearing every-fucking-thing Quentin does manages to be. Disgusting.

He takes a closer look at the box that Quentin’s holding and tries to remember what Josh’s latest culinary experiment was. At one point there had been caramels that made them all feel like they were full of champagne bubbles, effervescent and giddy and blissfully unaware of the four-day hangover that awaited them; not to mention the booze-soaked gummy bears that went down like a jello shot, the pineapple cocktails that Eliot is pretty sure had been laced with some sort of amphetamine, and the brownies that had been full of good, old-fashioned weed. Cookies though, what were the cookies?

Eliot’s eyes go wide when he realizes, and he has to try not to laugh. “How many of those have you had?”

“Three,” Quentin says hesitantly. “Why? What did he do to them?” Eliot thinks he must be realizing his mistake in eating anything unlabeled because he sets the box down on the counter and takes a cautious step back.

Eliot crosses the kitchen and grabs a cookie from the box, the first bite confirming his suspicions. It’s good, the cinnamon sugar is complemented nicely by the cream cheese frosting, and he makes a mental note to tell Josh he’s getting better at the actual baking part. Quentin is still looking nervously between Eliot and the cookies, apparently not comforted by the fact that Eliot is willing to eat them too.

“It’s fine,” Eliot says, putting the lid back on the box of cookies and inching closer to Quentin. One more bite and the cookie is gone, and Eliot doesn’t miss the way Quentin’s eyes follow the bob in his throat when he swallows it. 

“Eliot,” Quentin says, “what did I just eat?”

“Probably should have asked that before you ate them,” Eliot says, “but don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Quentin doesn’t look reassured. “I just wanted sugar.”

Eliot dips his head so he can nudge at Quentin’s jaw with his nose, breathing him in while the cookie starts to hit him. “Don’t worry,” he says, “you’ll definitely get something sweet.” The pun is clumsy and far from Eliot’s best work, but Quentin doesn’t notice. Eliot presses a soft kiss to his throat and can actually _feel_ the way Quentin’s pulse picks up.

“El?”

“Quentin,” Eliot says, “are you by any chance wondering why you’re suddenly hard in the middle of the kitchen for no reason?” He presses in closer, kissing up behind Quentin’s ear and smiling when he has to grab the counter to steady himself.

Quentin’s voice is shaky when he replies. “Uh, a little?” he says. “Like, what you’re doing super isn’t helping but, yeah, it’s kinda weird.”

“What do you know about aphrodisiacs?” Eliot whispers into his ear, and Quentin groans.

“Is my dick going to to fall off?” he asks. “If my dick falls off and I die I swear to god I’m going to haunt every single one of you-”

Laughing softly, Eliot cuts him off. “Your dick isn’t going to fall off, I would never let that happen. Besides, I ate one too, didn’t I?” He goes in for a kiss, holding Quentin’s face in his hands and waiting for him to shiver before pulling away. “Gotta make sure I can keep up when I’m fucking the magic out of you.”

Quentin whimpers and his legs give out a little and he has to lean hard into the countertop to stay upright. “Oh,” he says shakily. “That’s… not that bad.”

“You ate three,” Eliot says, stepping back and dragging Quentin with him towards the stairs. “It’s not that bad yet, but in about fifteen minutes you’re going to be begging for relief.”

Quentin trips over the bottom step and Eliot has to help him the rest of the way up to his bedroom. By the time they stumble through the door, Quentin is plastered up against Eliot and desperately trying to take his clothes off without physically separating them. Eliot gets Quentin’s jeans open and his hand inside, and then-

“Jesus _fuck,_ ” Quentin gasps when the first orgasm hits him.

“If it wasn’t for the cookies I’d be flattered,” Eliot says, pulling his hand away and wiping it on Quentin’s jeans. He can feel the flush of the aphrodisiac settling in across his cheeks and is acutely aware of the fact that Quentin isn’t the only one who’s still hard.

Quentin’s mouth is back on his before he can suggest getting naked, pulling at the buttons on his vest and eventually his tie until Eliot gets the point and is yanking his button-down off and tossing it aside. Quentin pulls away just long enough to tug his own shirt over his head and before Eliot can even process what’s happening he’s being pushed back onto the bed and Quentin is on his knees in front of him.

_Assertive,_ Eliot thinks to himself. He likes it.

He props himself up on his elbows, wanting to enjoy the show, and his dick is barely out of his pants before Quentin’s sinking his mouth down onto it. It’s hot and it’s desperate and Eliot almost falls back onto the bed, but he keeps himself together well enough to keep watching.

Sometimes he forgets that he and Quentin had had a literal lifetime of learning how to make each other fall apart, but like this it’s impossible not to remember. He fists his hands in Quentin’s hair (just how Quentin likes it) with a weird sort of muscle memory and when Quentin looks up at him, eyes big and mouth full (just how Eliot likes it) he goes off.

He lets himself collapse back onto the bed now, shimmying out of the pants that suddenly feel constricting. Somewhere in the post-orgasm rush Quentin must have taken his jeans off, because he’s completely naked when he straddles Eliot’s hips.

“ _El,_ ” he groans, shoving his face into the crook of Eliot’s neck and rutting against his hip bone. “I need-”

“More,” Eliot completes the thought, needing more himself, and grabs Quentin’s hips, pulling them closer together. It’s not long before Quentin is mouthing helplessly at Eliot’s collarbone, his movements stuttering before he comes again, spilling between them.

That’s all Eliot needs and he comes just a second later, cursing and moaning and clinging to Quentin like his life depends on it.

When he comes down Quentin is shaking, breathing heavily and starting to softly rock against Eliot again already. The noise he makes when Eliot pulls away even a little bit is probably the hottest thing Eliot has ever heard in his entire life, but he needs to grab the towel hanging off his bedpost because they’re a mess and it’s only going to get worse.

“Hey,” he says once he’s done a perfunctory cleanup, “you alright over there?”

Quentin moans as Eliot wraps a hand around him, thrusting up hard into his grip. “I’m going to die,” he gasps, but without any real conviction. “I’m going to die from sex.”

“Oh but what a way to go,” Eliot says, twisting his wrist and enjoying the noise it elicits.

*

It goes like this: for every orgasm Eliot has, Quentin has at least two. After a certain point, Eliot starts getting time between rounds to recover, but Quentin stays desperate, almost frantic. Sometimes Eliot makes them take breaks to drink some water and clean up, but Quentin doesn’t usually last long before throwing himself back at Eliot.

Eliot comes for the last time buried deep into Quentin. Quentin’s on his stomach, not quite able to hold himself up anymore, and comes against the bedspread as soon as Eliot comes inside him. He’s a wreck; his hair is damp with sweat where Eliot’s been gripping it and his voice has long since gone hoarse from begging and he’s covered in the marks Eliot has been sucking into his skin.

It’s hot enough that Eliot’s dick gives one final, valiant twitch as he pulls out, but he can feel that he’s done. He rolls just far enough off of Quentin to collapse, suddenly exhausted. He’s ready to sleep for about four days but can feel that Quentin isn’t there yet. 

He rolls Quentin onto his back; he’s been coming dry for a while now and he’s sensitive as fuck, but they can’t stop, not yet. He takes Quentin’s cock into his mouth while at the same time shoving three fingers into Quentin where he’s fucked-out and open.

The noise Quentin makes can only be described as a scream.

*

It takes two more hours to get the rest of the aphrodisiac out of Quentin’s system.

He slows down eventually, the orgasms coming less frequently but hitting him just as hard. Eliot’s been trying not to fall asleep mid-handjob and he knows it’s probably even worse for Quentin, who’s been going all afternoon. He’s almost done though, Eliot can feel it, so when he takes Quentin’s dick in his hand again he thinks they can both tell it’ll be the last time.

“El,” Quentin’s whimpering, his head tossing against the pillow and eyes scrunched shut, “I can’t, it’s too much, _Eliot._ ”

“Shh, I know,” Eliot says, brushing a strand of hair out of Quentin’s face. “I need you to come one more time for me though. Just one more, then I promise we can sleep.”

Quentin nods minutely, drawing in a deep breath and looking almost like he’s concentrating, weakly reaching out to touch Eliot wherever he can. Somehow, through all of this, he’s never pulled away, so Eliot doesn’t either. If Quentin needs contact, he’ll give him all he needs.

“Come on,” Eliot says, picking up the pace of his hand. “You can do this, Q. I’ve got you, you’re okay. You’ve been so good Quentin, just one more.”

Quentin’s face actually relaxes when he comes, the last of the magic releasing with the final orgasm, and collapses back against the bed as soon as he’s done. Eliot lets go of him immediately; they’ve gone through almost an entire bottle of lube but Quentin must still be sore.

Eliot makes a weak, final attempt at cleanup, but at this point it’s more for show than anything else. The towel is a lost cause; Eliot could probably magic it clean if he tried hard enough, but it’s genuinely not worth the effort. He tosses it aside, thinking he should probably just throw it out, or maybe put it under Josh’s pillow. He’s not sure which would be more satisfying.

The bed itself isn’t faring much better and Eliot thinks they should get up, shower, and change the sheets. At the very least they should take the sheets off, they’re disgusting and Eliot would honestly rather sleep on a bare mattress. He’s not really sure either of them can stand though, at least not yet, so he leaves it for now.

Despite everything, Quentin uses what is clearly the last of his remaining strength to pull Eliot close. It should be too much after the day they’ve had, but it’s comforting in a weird way. Eliot’s surprised to find he doesn’t mind so he settles in, resting his head on Quentin’s shoulder before passing the hell out.

*

Quentin sleeps for 36 hours straight. Eliot doesn’t leave his side.


End file.
